Critical Hit
by falloutnewvegans
Summary: Henry the Courier has to skip town for a while, and meets a corpse and a man who smells like a corpse.


Fuck pre-war subway tunnels.

They are dark, damp, smell like corpses and copper, usually don't have any good loot in them unless you consider the long-dead corpse of a rat a trophy, and they are known to contain all sorts of nasty critters, from molerats to super mutants.

So why AM I here? Well, for starters, I pissed off the wrong bartender at Gomorrah today. He said I "Had enough beer" and "Turbo doesnt give you telekinesis". I hate liars, and I have a special hatred for lying bartenders that cut me off. I promptly told him to go stuff a super sledge up his ghoul ass, and I was "removed" from the casino by a gang of men in suits wielding tommyguns who liked to end every sentence with "See?" and said "Yeah!" a lot. They didn't chase me, but the next day I woke up with a molerat's decapitated head in my bed and I decided that it would be wise to hide out somewhere in the wasteland for a while, until this storm has blown over.

So now I'm here, and I am going to press on because I might as well loot the place clean while I'm here. The only things I have with me are this service rifle, the 6 shooter I stole from easy pete while he was having a drunken nap (with only 4 bullets in it) and the clothes on my back. Even those are soaked with molerat juice since that surprise this morning, but whatever.

I pressed onwards, into the dark tunnels. As I walked, I came across some pieces of what used to be a maintenance worker on the tracks, either shot dead by some rampaging protectron or died from one of the few nukes that managed to hit the Mojave. I contemplated the bones for a while, before noticing a box of .357 ammo and a revolver next to him. It was then that I noticed the bloodstain on the wall.

Huh. I guess this fellow didn't die from a blast. I grabbed the ammo, and took the revolver apart to repair my own. After salvaging the still useful bullets from the box (most of them were wet or just plain already split open), I now had 25 bullets. More than enough to send any evil cockroach I might encounter over the edge.

I loaded my revolver, and was about to open the door that would most likely lead towards the maintenance area, when I heard a shout.

"OI! Don't go in there! The place is rigged by fiends!"  
I looked around, trying to find the source of the rather helpful warning, and down the set of stairs I just passed, came walking a man sporting a legionaire's helmet, some sunglasses…and some rather stylish leopard-print duds. He was wielding a katana, one of the most flimsy blades a man can carry.

My first reaction to his presence was to try with all the power in me to not burst out in laughter. I cracked a small smile instead, and thanked the man for warning me. I then pointed my revolver at him and told him to lay down the sword, and asked him if he was associated with the legion. After he told me he just ganked the helmet from a dead centurion in a ditch somewhere, I lowered my pistol and promptly asked him why the fuck he wasn't wearing anything more protective, and why he was carrying around a sword that would break if you even LOOKED at it the wrong way.

"Don't hate on my style. I don't need armor, because I don't piss off the wrong people or go out trying to punch super mutants. And the sword is more durable than you think. I'm like a fucking…shininja or ninjobi or whatever with this thing. You think that revolver ISNT going to break the moment you fire it?"

"No, because I know how to fucking repair things. That sword of yours looks like it's been duct taped together by a dieing ghoul hooker with Parkinsons, your pajamas are filthy enough to instantly infect any wound you might get, and that helmet smells like a corpse."

After that, he went quiet for a moment, started laughing, and we promptly shared some canned beans. After finishing up, I heard something behind us.

"Hey, you still haven't told me your name."  
"Shut up for a second, I think I hear some tin cans falling. Why don't you go investigate, mighty shadow warrior."  
"No thanks, I think I'm just going to sit back and watch you blow off your own hand with that revolver. No seriously, I've got stuff to do. See you one day. Maybe."

Fine then. I slowly walked towards the direction of the noise. I looked behind me for a second. Yup, the mighty leopard ninja of the wastes has fled. Amazing. I shrugged, and kept walking.  
Another sound. This time, it came from behind another security door. I readied my revolver, and swung the door open.

I quickly checked my Pip-Boy. A red marker. Nice.

I ran through the hall, ready to activate V.A.T.S the moment I saw anything. In the distance, I saw a slightly hulking figure. Maybe It was a injured trader. The marker was gone from my pipboy.

I walked towards the person.  
"Hey, uh. Dude. You need any help? I've got some stimpa-"  
After speaking, the "person" turned around, revealing a near-skeletal face, with two milky white eyeballs staring at nothing in particular. Startled, I immediately reached towards the ever-handy V.A.T.S button and pressed. The GUI noted the disgusting corpse-like creature as a "Feral Ghoul". The rumors were true.

I targeted its legs and head. Three pulls from the trigger, three bullets hit, one ghoul still very pissed, and now running straight at me.

I briefly considered huffing some jet for action points, but then I realized that I already did that…A week ago, after murdering a cannibal society. I exited V.A.T.S and grabbed the service rifle. I shot the thing in the torso a few times, and it started stumbling. Do these things even have pain receptors left? Are they even killable?

My questions were answered when I shot it again, and blew off its arm. It hissed a bit, before falling to its knees, keeling over, and dieing.

Critical hit.


End file.
